


Turn Off the Lights and Turn Off the Shyness

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Open Relationships, Open to Interpretation, Prompt Fill, ask to tag, idk - Freeform, potentially dean/maryse/miz????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: Demonsbalor asked for: Mizbrose + "Are you flirting with me?"





	Turn Off the Lights and Turn Off the Shyness

It’s been a long week, and it’s only Tuesday. Dean spent Monday sitting around talking to Roman, trying not to think about the Scumbag, trying not to bite through his skin with nervous energy and anxiety. 

Now that it’s Tuesday, he’s at work, pacing backstage at Smackdown in lord knows what city. The Intercontinental championship belt feels all wrong in his hand, against his shoulder. He has a bad feeling, curling deep in the pit of his gut. He’s gonna lose the title soon.

He has a segment on MizTV, and then a match against the Miz. He doesn’t trust it, doesn’t trust the older man’s wife, doesn’t trust any of this. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, shaking his hands aggressively. He’s got so much energy burning inside of him like a fire, like a shot of epinephrine directly into his spine, like a razor blade across his nerves. Something’s not right.

He goes out anyway.   
++   
Surprisingly, MizTV doesn’t end with a fight, doesn’t end with anything other than taunts that feel empty, to be honest. Their fight goes on later in the night, and Dean wins via Miz getting himself disqualified. Well, Maryse got him disqualified, but still. Same difference. They’ve become one and the same at this point.

He walks backstage, ignores the way his bad shoulder is starting to hurt, and hopes to god no one stops him for an interview. He just wants to get to the locker room, shower, and change into some sweatpants and then find his way to the hotel room to sleep. He’s exhausted, always is after fights against Miz, probably always will be after fights with him.

Thankfully, he doesn’t get stopped by any of the backstage interviewers who tend to descend like vultures with microphones, but he does get stopped by Miz and Maryse.

Maryse is typing away on her phone, but as he walks past, she grabs his arm and yanks him to a stop. She’s painfully strong, and her nails are digging into his bicep even though his leather jacket. Miz is leaning against the wall next to her, his sunglasses pulled over his eyes. He’s wearing his dumb  _ cloak _ , and his hair seems immaculate. He looks like he’s been relaxing for the last 15 minutes, not fighting a match.

A wave of white-hot anger rolls over Dean.

“What do you want?” He growls, wrenching his arm free. There are most certainly going to be indents left from Maryse’s talon-like nails, but that’s a problem for later.

“Just wanted to tell you that you look good with the Intercontinental championship.” Miz slides his glasses down his nose and peers over them, eyes bright and blue and filled with a glint that Dean doesn’t trust. “Bet you’d look even better without it. Without any of it.” His smile turns into a leer with those words, pink lips upturned to reveal sharp, white canines. 

Dean’s brain breaks quicker than it ever has before.

He stares dumbly at the older man, standing still in the middle of the hallway. He’s sweaty and sore and bruised and just wants to rest, but lord knows he won’t be able to after that. Miz is looking at him over the tops of his sunglasses like he’s expecting an answer, and Dean doesn’t have one to give.

Finally, he manages to stammer out a, “Are you  _ flirting _ with me?” His voice is incredulous, a little airy, not nearly as angry as he wants it to. He sounds almost  _ hopeful _ , and he internally curses himself.

Miz grins a shark’s grin, his canines looking almost too sharp in the flickering fluorescent lights. He doesn’t look human, right now. Maybe he never has.

“Have been for the past few months, thanks for noticing.” He sneers, voice a little too cruel for his words. His eyes are pinning Dean in place, like a physical weight against his chest. He can’t breathe.

After a few moments of standing there, gaping like an idiot, floundering to find something to say, his voice manages to catch up with his brain. Sadly, it quickly bypasses his brain, and he’s left stuttering out a, “Dude, your wife is right there.” It’s not the “no” he wanted, nor is it an insult, but part of him knows it’s the closest he’s gonna get to either.

Miz tosses his head back and barks out a laugh, sharp, and it hits Dean like a punch to the gut. Instead of answering, though, he turns to Maryse and jerks his head.

She rolls her eyes and slides her phone into her pocket easily. She takes a graceful step towards Dean, heels razor thin and sharp as a tack. She grabs Dean by the lapel, and suddenly, the eight inches of height difference between them feels like Dean’s on the smaller side of the equation. “It’s called an open relationship,  _ boy _ .” She says, sharp words somehow whetted by the awkward blanket of her accent stilting her words. 

He cringes a little at the way she calls him  _ boy _ . She’s only 3 years older than him, and Dean likes to think he has enough experience to dwarf the roster. Still, she’s treating him like a child, always has, probably always will, and it feels like a knife digging between his 6th and 7th ribs. He has to fight back the urge to snap his teeth at her.

Miz leans off the wall, takes a slow step towards Dean. There’s an air of confidence around him, an air of calmness that makes Dean want to choke. Miz stops when they’re toe to toe, the scuffed edge of Dean’s boots pressed to Miz’s polished shoes. It feels wrong, to be allowed this close to something so….clean.

“So what do you say, Ambrose? You wanna take me up on this or are you gonna leave me hanging?” Miz asks, words sharp, like a knife pressed to Dean’s throat, like barbed wire digging into his shoulders.

He surges forwards and kisses him.

Miz’s lips are wet and soft under Dean’s own chapped ones. Dean’s hands sink into the older man’s hair, wrecking the last bit of product left. Miz smells like expensive soap, cologne, and a hint of sweat still clinging to his skin. He tastes sweet and crisp, and kissing him feels like refuge from a blazing sun. 

Miz kisses back with an intensity Dean can only dream of matching, lips pressing hard, just a hint of teeth before they’re gone. Before Dean knows it, he’s lost control, and Miz has him pressed against the wall as he slowly licks the taste of a split lip from Dean’s mouth.

That night he sleeps in Miz and Maryse’s hotel room.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tonyknees on Tumblr! Come bug me! Feel free to request a prompt!  
> Title credit to All the Gin Joints in All the World by Fall Out Boy


End file.
